


Homerun

by fightfortherightsofhouseelves



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-03 21:58:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13350357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightfortherightsofhouseelves/pseuds/fightfortherightsofhouseelves
Summary: In scoring a homerun, one must attempt to touch all bases. First base, second, base, third base, home plate.





	1. first base

**Author's Note:**

> Touchdown is intended to be a four-chapter fic, so bear with me :)  
> Now adding a good old sequel, because my boys need closure, amiright?

_**First base** _ _: sharing intense, passionate, open-mouthed kisses, with a mix of above the belt touching._

His head was spinning as he dropped on top of his bed, still fully clothed. He heard a sound close to vomiting coming from the four-poster next to his, but he just laughed. He'd talk to Ron tomorrow, for he couldn't quite trust his legs to support him should he attempt to stand up again. Harry could never have imagined the day taking such a completely unexpected turn. Of course, he had already made up his mind and was only waiting for the perfect opportunity, whatever that may be, to make his intentions towards Ginny loud and clear. But starting the day in the sublimely heinous company of the Hogwarts' Potions Master had in no way indicated that he would succeed in both securing his spot as Ginny Weasley's boyfriend and kissing her until he felt dizzy.

And such intense kisses she gave. She was like wildfire, unleashing completely when he held her in his arms. And the best part was how she brought to the surface a side of him he never even knew he possessed. As a matter of fact, he had kissed girls before, if a snog shared through tears ever counted, but never quite like that. No. It was different with Ginny. She could only trace his lower lip with her index finger and he came undone against the castle wall. And she enjoyed it, oh how she enjoyed making a fool out of him. He could read it in her eyes, that mischievous glint which reminded him so well of the twins. She was a cheeky one, Ginny. But that made it all the more exciting to him. He was drunk on her, so much better than he had imagined.

Rolling on top of the covers until his head reached the pillows, Harry Potter fell asleep with a strong feeling of content.

When he opened his eyes, it was already morning. The sun was up, there was a happy clatter of Hogwarts students rising to their dormitory windows, and a very wide grin plastered on his face. He was love-struck and it didn't even bother him.

"Ouch! Oi, what was that for?" the dark-haired teenager asked his best mate, who had apparently decided it was a good idea to smack him right between the eyes with a pillow.

"You had that lovesick smile stretched all over your face and it made me nauseous," Ron explained, throwing in a demonstration of his displeasure for good measure. He had put out his tongue and started pointing towards it with his index finger. Harry thought he was acting silly, but knew better than to voice his opinion or remind him of his own endeavours with Lavender Brown not so long ago. Luckily for his eyes, and for their friendship with Hermione, that episode of Ron's life was over.

"Are you feeling well enough to grab breakfast?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Always," the ginger boy smirked. "But hey, no snogging at the table, around the table or anywhere near me, mate, is that clear?" he seriously added, poking Harry in the chest for better clarity.

"Aye, aye," replied the sixteen year old. After all, he felt generous enough to spare some quality kissing opportunities if it meant keeping his best mate in good spirits.

However, Ginny did not feel as generous. She had already finished eating her breakfast – toast and pumpkin juice – and was sat next to Hermione. Her features broke into a dazzling smile when her eyes fell on him. Next thing he knew, two arms were encircled around his neck and a pair of moist lips glided against his own. Getting a grip on himself, or rather feeling the incense of Ron's gaze, he slowly broke the kiss. Shrugging as if to say  _not my fault_ , he sat at the table, between Ginny and Hermione.

"Fancy a walk?" the redheaded witch asked, a hand under her chin as she looked at him sideways.

"Yeah, alright," Harry answered, grabbing two pieces of toast.

Making their way towards the ancient entrance doors, they could distinctly hear the sound of Hermione elbowing Ron in the ribs and his not-so-silent mutterings.

"He's such a git," Ginny shook her head, allowing the sun to catch in her superb red locks. Harry was tempted to stretch his hand and caress them, but restrained himself. After all, they have only been together for less than twenty four hours, if that's what they were doing. He was not quite sure yet. They haven't gotten round to much talking the other day, if he had to be honest.

"He just cares for you, is all," he assured her.

"Well, he might as well stop. I won't have any brother of mine tell me who to date," she confidently stated. There was a look of determination on her face that Harry had begun to like so much over the year. It made his stomach do a little back-flip every time he was fortunate enough to witness it.

"So we're dating?" he asked, a small glint of smugness sneaking into his tone. Was it pride he was feeling? The creature in his chest roared and purred, pleased.

"Naturally," Ginny replied as though it was such a silly question to ask.

She smirked and it made him weak in the knees. It should have troubled him that someone held so much power over him so fast, but it didn't and he was happy to surrender. Reaching a particular secluded spot near the lake, he felt his girlfriend – and indeed, it was something soothing in thinking of her as his  _girlfriend_ – pulling him down to sit next to her.

"So," he said.

"So," she mimicked.

If he ever doubted that the conversation between the two of them would flounder, all his worries were waived aside. Their lines were flowing effortlessly, as naturally as if they had known each other's minds inside out. How had it taken him so long to notice? Or has it not always been there, just under his nose, waiting for him to finally open his eyes and see? Gone was the little blushing girl, his best mate's sister, and instead he found himself intently gazing at a breathtaking young woman, all confidence and strength in her posture. He wondered how she could carry herself as lightly as she did, after all she'd been through, after all she'd seen. Bravery was etched in Ginny Weasley's features and Harry thought he might be able to love her for it someday, in a brighter future than the one he knew was waiting for him.

Listening to her abuse Zacharias Smith and his abysmal Quidditch commentating skills, Harry relaxed and leaned on the tree bark in the vicinity of which they had taken shelter. He bent his knees to sit more comfortably and was pleasantly surprised to see Ginny move to sit in between his legs, resting her back against the inside of his right thigh. She carried on, going over the finer points of the previous day's match and the raven-haired Gryffindor caught himself bewitched by the sight of her lips. He never before realised how beautiful her lips were. So full, with her lower lip delicately bruised in its right corner, for she always bit it absent-mindedly when she tried to find her words. And the way they curved when she started being smart and sassy, he just had to feel them.

So he did and caught her mid-sentence. Not minding in the slightest, she responded wholeheartedly, her hands automatically flying to his unruly hair. Chapped met tender and warm, their mouths pressing against each other. Easily, she brushed her lips first against his upper one, then against his lower lip and he parted them without indenting to. Ginny pursed her lips further against his, as his hand wandered to the back of her head, pulling her in and as close as he could. He was mollified and, for a moment, Harry felt bold enough to try something he had never done before. He smoothly touched her parted lips with his tongue and immediately sensed her draw in a mouthful of air. He was travelling on new grounds, but he took her response as a positive omen and an encouragement to continue. The tip of his tongue gently collided with hers and the taste nearly sent him into overdrive. Honey was mixed with pumpkin juice and it increased his urgent desire to explore her deeper.

Ginny shifted her position for better access and took over his sheepish attempts. Observing her take control made him more eager and excited, as it allowed him to just let go. Her tongue entered seamlessly into his mouth, making him breathe out aloud. It was peppermint and she felt her heart beat so much faster when his trembling fingers started caressing her waistline through her robe. Softly sucking on his tongue, she set his nerves on fire. Harry heard himself gasp and moan. Realising it had been him whom had made the sound, the teenager turned several shades of red. A silent prayer was raised that the girl he was holding in his arms did not hear it. He drew his head back, finally ending the kiss.

Both of them panted hard, Ginny laying flush against his chest. She could sense the delicate thumping of his heartbeat under her palm and smiled. Snogging a red-faced, messy-haired Harry Potter was definitely becoming one of her favourite activities and it sent shivers down her spine. She wasn't quite the expert in the physical department herself, but seeing him awkwardly venture to discover her brought a wave of pride and pleasure washing over her. It might have been vain to bask in the validation of what she had always hoped – that she would be his first, but she couldn't be arsed to care in that moment. And this particular thought made her understand something else about her own self. She was possessive when it came to Harry Potter and she wasn't even ashamed of it. It was the first time Ginny Weasley felt like she belonged, and nothing the world would throw at her would make her give up this boy, this man that was holding her so dearly, so tenderly against his chest. They were going to learn each other inside and out, memorise every small detail and overcome their fears together. He knew it and she knew it and they agreed upon it silently. It was going to be an interesting journey but it was worth all the effort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's chat endlessly on tumblr: fightfortherightsofhouseelves  
> i enjoy discussing hinny and harry potter forever and ever and ever and yeah, ever!


	2. second base

**_Second base:_ ** _hands travel below the belt and refuse to stop there._

First time they stumbled upon the unsteady grounds of second base, they were inside one of the more deserted Hogwarts corridors. They had agreed to go to the library together, Harry offering to help Ginny revise for her fast and coming OWL examinations.

"And it was easier than I thought it would be, we just had to -" but he ceased mid-sentence, noticing that he'd been walking alone. It seemed that he had been giving his generous exam insights and tips to no one in particular. Apparently, Ginny had stopped somewhere along the corridor and was staring intently at the entrance to an unused annex of the castle wing.

"I don't quite fancy studying right now," she softly said. Harry walked back to her and gently squeezed her hand.

"I know, but Hermione might do me in if she found out I'm keeping you away from your revision timetable," he chuckled, brushing a stray ginger lock from her cheek. Ginny just rolled her eyes and tightly grabbed on his wrist.

"Come on," she said and dragged him past the dim-lit entrance.

"What exactly are you doing?" Harry asked amused, raising an ebony eyebrow.

"Homework," the redhead shrugged."McGonagall was going on and on today about how adamant it is to have great knowledge of human anatomy in order to excel in Transfiguration," Ginny answered, narrowing the distance between their mouths."And I plan on excelling," she whispered against his lips.

Any conflicting thoughts left his brain at a remarkable speed, being replaced by strong emotions and an impulse to kiss that smart mouth of hers until her lips were swollen. And so he did, a tad more experienced than two weeks previously, when they had shared their first proper snog under that tree by the lake. Lips pressed together, gliding up and down against each other, hands travelling to rest on the small of her back and in his messy raven hair. Thinking it must be a good move, Harry inclined his head and planted a couple of kisses on her jaw and another shy one on the side of her neck. Finding himself pinned to the wall, he mentally hi-fived his own self for trying at least one of the things he had been dreaming of doing to her.

Mirroring his actions, Ginny drew her lips closer to the sensitive skin of his neck and let out a hot breath of air before lightly sucking on that particular sweet spot.  _Blimey, how good it was_. He felt like moaning once again, but concentrated hard not to, for fear that he might ruin it all. The young witch tasted his skin with her tongue, and it was all it took for Harry to spin her round and press  _her_ against the wall.

"Impressive," she smirked. The smugness etched in the curl of her smile unleashed something new inside him. The old creature in his chest roared loud and he knew he needed more of her. Mouth clashing against mouth, he felt intoxicated by her and could not stop his hands in their quest to discover her body. Nor did he want to. He would feel guilty towards Ron later, when there would be time for that and no irresistible witch tugging at the hem of his robes.

He was about to adventure as far as to try and graze her earlobe with his teeth, as he had seen Bill do to Fleur in an unfortunate moment that previous summer when he walked inside a dark Burrow living room, but something stopped him. It was a sensation akin to bliss and confusion all wrapped into one.

"Erm…sorry," Ginny stammered, her features catching fire. "I…I didn't mean to," she added, averting her gaze.

It all made sense now. The wonderful feeling he experienced for the smallest of moments had actually been her hand faintly brushing the bulge formed in his trousers, underneath his robe.

"Oh," he stupidly replied and blushed just as furiously. Never in his life had he felt another hand wander so far and the sheer thought left him trembling. He wanted to say that it was okay, no problem, let's just continue, shall we, but familiar voices echoing from somewhere along the main corridor made him reconsider.

"And then he said – oh! Oh, sorry," Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil stopped to a halt and looked towards a very embarrassed Harry and Ginny, who were still quite incriminatingly close to each other.

 _Do those two ever walk alone? Do they really have to go round the castle in a pack? And do they have to be here, of all places?!_ Harry mentally growled at them, but said nothing. It was Ginny who recovered first and had enough sense to throw back a witty remark. Taking his hand, she marched him past them and didn't stop until the girls' giggles faded away.

"Too bad they walked in on us," the redhead spoke nonchalantly.

Harry blinked. He was tempted to ask what would have happened if they hadn't, but a voice which annoyingly resembled Hermione's screamed at him to let Ginny study. He had to agree, OWLs were getting closer by the day and it was very important for her to focus. After all, Mrs Weasley would never forgive him if he sabotaged her only daughter's career.

"Let's get you into the library, yeah?" he said, wrapping an arm round her shoulders and shepherding her up the stairs. She scowled.

"Buzz killer," she pouted and stuck out her tongue at him.

Harry thought she looked impossibly cute and leant down to kiss her cheek. The rest of the day was spent inside the library, under the sharp nose and steely glare of Madam Pince.

Second time they got close to second base, it was Harry who got carried away. They both had a short period on Fridays and took advantage of it. They tossed their robes away and changed into something more comfortable, walking out into the grounds to catch a bit of sun after classes. They sat down by the tree that had become  _their spot_. She was wearing a skirt that day and he rather liked observing how her freckles not only covered her face, but her legs as well. And how they travelled all the way up her thighs and disappeared underneath the thin fabric of the garment. The thought of where the freckles went refused to leave his mind as they engaged in one of their well practiced snogging sessions. The irksome thought seemed to control his hand, for he surprised himself feeling dainty skin beneath his fingers. Harry searched for her gaze, making sure that it would be alright to dare.

Ginny quickly looked over her shoulder to see if they were indeed alone and then nodded. Holding his breath, he brushed the tips of fingers up and up, stopping at the barrier created by the material of her knickers.

She bit her lower lip and leant back to rest on her elbows, watching him. The image of her boyfriend with his eyes darkened and tinges of red painted on his cheeks was both amusing and arousing to her. If only he would buck up and just do it. She was positive they both felt the same way, they both wanted the same thing.

"Oh," she gasped as his fingers touched her through her knickers. It was a gentle, fearful touch, but it made her senses explode nonetheless. It was electrifying. He tried the same motion again. And again. And again, until she was chewing on her lip and clawing at the ground beneath her.

Harry saw her part her legs further and shifted so he would be closer. With one hand supporting her back, he lightly traced the piece of skin at the barrier between her undergarment and leg, making her draw in another shaky breath. The sixteen-year old pushed one finger under the fabric and sensed the heat and small curls resting inside. Ginny buried her forehead in his chest and held on tighter to the grass she'd gathered in her fist.  _God, yes._  Her nerves went numb when he went on to lightly feel her centre. She moaned, louder than she'd intended.

"Gin," Harry hissed in her ear, his voice huskier than she had ever heard it."I don't think I can go on much longer," he added, removing his hand from underneath her skirt.

"It's alright," she breathed, understanding what he meant. The young woman kissed him tenderly, caressing his cheek. She smoothed her clothes and squeezed his hand as if to tell him it had been incredible. He stroked her back in response. They were getting there, slowly moving to a place where they were comfortable in each other's presence, where they could completely relax and let everything else go. The road was thrilling and a sweet kind of torture all wrapped into one.

Third time it happened, Harry had been thinking about his next session with Dumbledore the whole day. The thought was obsessive and the lack of response infuriating. When was he going to send for him again? What were they going to do? What if something went terribly wrong? So many bloody questions and thoughts revolving round his head. He felt anxious and try as he might, sleep refused to come. So he dug out his Map and Cloak from his trunk, you know,  _just in case_ , and went to the Common Room to find the little dots marked Malfoy and Snape and see what they were up to. However, he was surprised to find Ginny curled up in the armchair by the fire.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked, opening her eyes, aware of his presence.

"No, you?"

"No," the red-headed girl shrugged and sighed, absent-mindedly massaging her temples.

He went to sit by her, patting her head, but she lightly smacked his hand away and climbed onto his lap.

"What are you doing?" Harry inquired amused.

"Making myself comfortable. As you interrupted my kip, I think I'm entitled to this," she casually replied as she snuggled against his chest, resting her head against the crook of his neck. "And you  _are_ a better bed than the old one in the dorm," she went on, supplying her arguments with small kisses on the side of his neck.

He could see the contours of her breasts perked against his chest and his imagination went wild. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to have an impromptu rendezvous when they were clad only in their pajamas. Or maybe it had been the perfect idea, he couldn't quite decide. There were always two voices inside his mind when it came to her: one that told him to play the gentleman and another that begged him not to listen. The second one had started growing louder and louder, he noticed.

The snogging session heated up, following the path they had already learned by heart. Mouth against mouth, small bites, parting of lips, tip of tongue, the familiar taste that washed over them every time. Harry felt her nipples harden through her nightdress and moved his hand to slowly trace the side of one breast. It was soft, yet full, and he added a bit of pressure to his touch. Ginny responded by biting his earlobe and sneaking her hand inside his shirt. She didn't expect him to be toned. He was just a boy, all lanky and messy hair. She quite liked the feel of his chest under her palm, and by the way he watched her, hungrily, wildly, she understood he was enjoying it too.

Harry caressed her breasts through the fabric, pressing his thumb against one nipple. He twisted it between his index finger and thumb and immediately hardened hearing Ginny moan in reaction.  _Bloody hell_. All sensibility evaporated. Tugging at each other's clothes furiously, the teenagers chose to forget about their very public whereabouts. Godric Gryffindor himself could have walked out of the fireplace for all they cared.

The boy had tilted the collar of her pajamas enough to unveil a creamy, freckled breast. He closed his eyes to steady himself and bent his head until his lips were around her pink nipple. Ginny's hands grabbed at his hair and pushed his head further against her chest. She squirmed, feeling something hot and moist form between her legs. He switched to her other breast, and she shut her eyes.  _Oh, bugger, what he was doing to her_. The young woman wanted to scream in hope of finding release. It was close to oblivion, her every sense was on fire and it was just too damn much. She needed more, she  _had_  to have more or else she was afraid she might explode.

Harry felt his girlfriend's hand tightly grab hold of his own and for a mad moment he feared he'd done something wrong. The black-haired wizard studied her face, a picture that would forever be burned in his mind, stuck on replay to drive him insane.  _Oh sweet Merlin_. Sprawled in his lap, with tangled hair and biting her lower lip in a way that made his breath catch, her nightdress falling down one shoulder, one perked up breast escaping from it, Ginny Weasley was the epitome of beauty for Harry Potter.

Nonetheless, he had to snap out of his reverie quickly, feeling his palm being guided underneath her gown. He knew what this meant, they had been there before recently, testing the waters. His heart thumped faster and faster, sheer impulse taking over from reason.

"You kind of started something the other day and I thought maybe you'd like to finish," she said, avoiding his gaze.

Harry turned her chin back to him with his index finger. His Ginny was not easily embarrassed, so he understood by this alone how difficult it may have been for her to voice her thoughts. Because of course he had been thinking about it too, no less dreaming about it. He took his actions quite far in his dreams and woke up feeling very bothered nowadays. He had fallen into a habit of waiting an additional ten minutes before getting out of bed, to be absolutely positive he had erased all inappropriate thoughts of Ginny before walking into her older brother, his best mate. To Ron she would always be his little sister, and Harry didn't even wish to imagine how he might react if he so much as guessed that they'd done little more than hold hands and exist in each other's presence.

This time he slips a finger inside her knickers more confidently and she grabs onto his shoulders to steady herself. She squirms in his lap as she experiences his touch, one calloused tip of his finger parting her.

"Is it – er – is it alright?" he mumbled. It was important for him not to hurt her or make a blunder out of it.

"Oh, yes, it absolutely is,  _don't stop_ ," she moaned against the crook of his neck.

Encouraged, he slid a little bit more inside her, brushing against her clit. His instincts told him to be gentle and lightly twiddle his finger round it. Slowly. Easily. So torturously slow that Ginny moved her palm unto his and pressed his hand harder against her. Harry mirrored her and pressed again, making her pant louder. With his index finger he drew out and then in, repeating the motion until she couldn't hold it insider her anymore.  _Fuck_. She had to let loose.

Harry felt something wet and hot spill over his fingers and he had to concentrate hard to prevent himself from doing just the same. Coming all over his pajama bottoms was not the way he'd imagined this moment.

To his great surprise, her palm came to rest on his abdomen. She looked as though she was attempting to gather all her courage and pour it into her next action. She dragged her fingers a couple of times over the exposed skin above his trousers and then, screwing her face into an expression of pure determination, she slid it further inside his pajamas. It was his turn to gasp and grab onto the girl that was still nestled on his lap, legs dangling down between his. She wrapped her hand round him, trembling at first and gaining confidence as she continued to travel up and down his length.

The sensation of her delicate skin against his most sensitive one broke his resolve. In exactly three strokes, his gaze darkened and something inside him was ripped apart.

Ginny slowly removed her hand from the inside of his trousers and observed a thick liquid dripping down her fingers.

"Bloody hell, I'm sorry," he apologised, flustered.

"I think we've passed the boundary of apologies, don't you reckon?" she winked.

"Yeah, I'd have to agree," he admitted, kissing the top of her head.

He saw his wand on the floor and wondered when exactly had he thrown it there, but decided it was less important. Ginny jumped to her feet, allowing him to bend and retrieve his wand.

"I hope I can get this right," he confessed, frowning. "Scourgify!" Harry muttered the incantation, pointing his wand to his bottoms first. Luckily, it worked and he proceeded to clean her up as well.

"Let's do this again sometime," Ginny cheekily told him before they parted ways to their respective dormitories.

"Just not in a Common Room armchair, shall we?" he laughed.

"Can't make any promises," she replied, standing up on her tiptoes to kiss him goodnight. She left him dazed, smiling dumbly in the aftermath of an unforgettable sleepless night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Ginny are slowly but surely stumbling through all the bases and it's one hell of a ride, yeah?


	3. third base

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to Bianca,  
> for a magical 24th

**_Third base_ ** _: mouths join hands below the belt._

Before the mad hunt for Horcruxes had begun, it had been enough for Harry to so much as make eye contact with Ginny and a flood of warm memories would invade his mind mercilessly. He remembered her face, her beautiful face, her lust-filled eyes, and the way the shadows created by the hearth danced all over her body that final night, before Dumbledore had summoned him and all had been forever changed. It was agony not to be able to hold her again, but he knew there was no other choice. She had a future before her, whereas he…But it was better not to think about it or he would go insane. If only he could tell her, if only he could change his destiny. If only. He was tired of so many _if onlys_.

He caught her gaze lingering on him every once in awhile and it always spiked something inside him, electrified his senses and challenged his masculine instincts. He caught her gaze lingering on him and almost ran her way, longing to wrap his arms round her, to just _feel_ her. He caught her gaze lingering on him and swore hard under his breath, viciously promising himself that he would return to her and life would be different.

Different. What would be different? The thought was laughable, ridiculous at most, that he, Harry Potter, could ever lead a different life, when all he’d known was sorrow, despair, helplessness and lies. Oh, so many lies. How was he supposed to cut through all this bloody mess and make something new out of it? How was he planning to stay alive long enough to see it happen? He was barking and he knew it and so he laughed a bitter laugh every time the absurdity of it all hit him like a brick on the back of his head.

Today he would come of age, yet another fact rendered useless by the times they lived in. So he was able to do magic legally, great. It wasn’t like he would refrain from cursing Voldemort into the afterlife if he hadn’t been granted legal permission to do so. Wouldn’t it be just the treat of the century to come face to face with the Dark Lord and say _“Sorry, mate, the Ministry won’t allow me to do magic, you see.”_ The world stopped making sense and somehow he was trapped in the middle of it. And even more absurd was the way his own voice just came out of his mouth and agreed to follow Ginny into her room. Ginny. Into her room. _Her room_. When he was supposed to stay as far away from her as he could. He cursed himself and cursed the legs that were carrying him after Ginny, like a sleepwalker, like a ragged doll following its master. How easily she could entrance him. How swiftly she could break his resolve.

He felt like a spectator at someone else’s black comedy. He heard her whisper something and himself reply, saw her laughing bitterly and then closing the distance separating them. He witnessed it all as if he was the one person in the audience, watched the actors on stage embrace, kiss with fiery passion, never to let go of each other. And then, to create a climax for the drama of the two young, star-crossed lovers, the door on the right of the stage flew open. Enter Ron Weasley, big brother and protector. The couple is broken apart and the curtain falls. Was he really one of the actors in such a demented play? Was he really about to go into battle at seventeen, ready to measure forces with the darkest wizard of all time?

But battled he did and, somehow, even won the war. But the losses were innumerable. The pain was unbearable and he wished time and again that he could exchange his worthless, meaningless life for those precious many who had died during that endless May night. He was in a trance, not even aware of his surroundings for the first two weeks. He had no recollection of being brought to the Burrow, no idea how he ended on its front steps in the middle of the night, completely dressed, wand ready, and Ginny tugging at his sleeve, attempting to pull him back inside the house.

“It’s over, Harry. Do you hear me? It’s over,” she’d say, that blazing look in her face, the only thing that brought him to the living world those days. She had the effect of a tonic and acted like a safety net, flatly refusing to let him slip away into his own misery.

“I won’t let you, do you understand? I won’t let you leave me again, Harry,” she’d yell and shake him every time she found him absently staring through the living room window in the middle of the night. “It’s enough that Mum and George and Percy are…as they are right now and I’ll be damned if I let you sulk around too. Because I need you, you bloody git, you absolute sod, you – you - I need you to be here for me,” she’d heartbreakingly confess.

And that finally got through to Harry. He could finally understand that. Protecting his friends, his loved ones was part of him, part of his raw being and he could do that. If Ginny needed him, he’d escape his own sorrow and remorse. He’d make sure to be there for her, to hold her, to keep her safe. She was his anchor, keeping him still amidst these muddy tides and he was determined to become the pillar which would support her from now on.

It wasn’t hard slipping back into that familiar rhythm they used to have. Ginny, she was something else. So confident and strong, so beautiful in her slight roughness. He could never cease to be mesmerised by her incredible grace and sheer will to live. This girl that had suffered so much from an early age, who lost so much. It was like she had shed her girlish skin and chose to be reborn as a woman of phenomenal power. It was her who made everyone aware of their relationship by simply kissing him goodnight after dinner, leaving her parents, brothers and boyfriend gaping. It was her who made it crystal clear that the time she and Harry chose to spend alone was _their time_ and nobody should dare interrupt (which did not sit well with Ron, to be frank). This decision brought Harry many peaceful moments spent in the orchard throughout the summer. But also many terrifying ones, such as when Ginny and Mrs Weasley had a monumental row, the first insisting that Harry be allowed in her room and the latter bellowing that _that_ was not going to happen as long as she lived under her roof or until they married.

“You should take a leaf out of your bother Bill’s book, young lady,” Mrs Weasley charged. “ _He_ was twenty-seven, not sixteen –“

“I’m coming of age this summer!”

“- when he was married and allowed to sleep in the same room as his _wife_ ,” Molly Weasley crossed her arms and glared at her daughter.

Ginny responded by crossing her arms in equal manner, pouting and stomping out of the house, throwing a _yeah, right_ behind her. Harry was left to stare at the ground, embarrassed, and wonder when had the issue of them sleeping together in the same room even came into discussion. He sure didn’t think about it. Only someone barking mad would believe that the strict matron would approve of her underage daughter and somewhat-son doing - whatever couples sharing the same room were doing. He cringed hearing the kitchen door being slammed shut and thought that this was a fine way to repay their kindness for taking him in once again.

But not even Mrs Weasley could control the force of nature that was Ginny. Whenever her mother was busy, she would find that she was unable to mend to a series of things. So, naturally, Harry had to be called over to her room to help her move various pieces of furniture or fix a couple of broken flower pots. After all, what was a clumsy, underage witch to do when she needed some help redecorating? And she redecorated, alright. She redecorated Harry mostly, with a love bite here and there, him walking out of her room with his hair more mussed than ever before.

Still they never crossed the line of first base again for fear of Mrs Weasley’s retribution and because they had discussed actually taking it slow this time. They had all the life before them and could afford the luxury of just taking their time, unhurriedly, patiently.

It was during one of their patient and unhurried get-togethers in late July when their taking it slow brought them to the brink of third base. Ginny had sweetly asked Harry to help her find something in Ron’s and his room on the uppermost floor and, being the perfect gentleman, he had obliged. They climbed the stairs fully aware that Mr Weasley and Charlie, who had just stopped by the Burrow in between his research trips, were watching them.

“Are you trying to have your family do me in?” Harry quirked an eyebrow as soon as she shut the door behind them.

“No, I’m trying to prove that it’s none of their business,” she replied, waving a hand as if to show how little she cared of what her family might say.

“Understandable, but would it hurt to be more subtle?” he went on.

“Hark who’s talking,” she shrugged.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked, slightly incensed. His behaviour had been completely gentlemanly and she knew it.

“Just that I see no point in being a little hypocrite about it,” she struck back, hands on her hips.

“Is that what you think of me?” Harry crossly inquired.

“I do when you try to act as though you’re so innocent,” the redhead retaliated, glaring at him.

“And what makes you believe I’m not?” he pettily continued. “I haven’t been anything but appropriate towards you since I came back,” the nearly-eighteen-year old went on, daring her to deny.

“I know and that’s what’s bothering me!” Ginny admitted. She too was surprised of herself, but the cat was out of the bag now and there wasn’t much she could do about it than play along.

“It – it does?” he asked, deflated, scratching his forehead. He thought it was what they agreed upon. _Women, can’t ever understand them_ , Ron’s voice sounded inside his head and he mentally nodded.

“A bit. I mean, you know, at Hogwarts you just couldn’t keep your hands away from me and now I have to resort to ludicrous lies that no one actually believes to get you to come near,” she explained, her chin held high as if not to lose the last amounts of dignity she had left.

“Gin,” Harry chuckled. For all her maturity and common sense, she could be such a normal teenager sometimes and it was refreshing to be reminded of that.

“Don’t you dare laugh, Harry Potter, or I’ll – I’ll” she stammered, in search of a good enough threat, squinting her eyes in his direction.

“You’ll what? Bat-Bogey Hex me?” the dark-haired young man lifted a smug ebony eyebrow.

 _Sod it_ , she thought, making a mental note to pay him back later for this little display of smugness and insolence.

The only thing Harry saw before he tripped and fell flat on his back was a mass of freckles attacking him. Luckily, the blow had been cushioned by Ron’s bed and both of them fell on top of it in a tangle of limbs.

Ginny was pressed flush against his chest, as far as he could see with his glasses skewed above his nose. Straightening them just in time to notice her close her eyes and part her lips, he took it as cue to kiss her thoroughly. The kiss turned into a full snog and the snog into hands roaming under shirts. He could never quite resist her when she moaned in that husky little voice of hers, so he flipped them over with a brusque motion. With the sensual sounds she was eliciting, she’d hoodwinked him into wanting to take control. She looked up at him, interested, a cheeky glint hiding in the corner of her eye.

So he lifted her shirt just above her navel and left a trail of kisses back and forth, from the hem of the cloth to the buckle of her belt. She writhed beneath him as he swiftly dragged the tip of his tongue over the sweet portion of skin hidden by the belt. He took a leap of faith and closed his palm over the buckle.

“May I?” Harry asked, somewhat timidly.

“Just stop talking,” she breathed, eyes squeezed shut and a mess of ginger hair sprawled out everywhere.

He fumbled with the belt and buttons, cursing his trembling fingers. When at last he managed to have them open, he bent down to plant one, two, three open-mouthed kisses above the line of her pink knickers before attempting to discard her Muggle denim shorts. Ginny wriggled enough to help him drag them down, for which he was most grateful.

The wizard traced a finger over her thigh, following a pattern of freckles that led up inside her thin piece of underwear. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten this small detail. He adored the constellations strewn across her creamy skin, loved every small freckle, wanted to caress every peak and valley of her body. It was burning desire the way he never felt it before and he started kissing his way up the inside of her right thigh, then her left. The flowery smell he’d always linked to Ginny invaded his nostrils, spiking his senses. So he kissed her trough the fabric of her knickers just to be sure he’d never forget this feeling.

She let a tiny _oh_ escape her lips and covered her eyes with her arm. She wanted to curl her toes and grab his hair, for he was breathing hot breaths of air against her. The ginger felt two blistered palms slip underneath her, gently lift her and all of a sudden she was exposed. Ginny tried banishing all thoughts of embarrassment and chastity, reminding herself that it was her who had laughed at him for acting all innocent only earlier. She settled for covering her eyes again, the powerful thumpthumping of her heart flooding her ears, deafening her.

Harry had no idea what he was doing. He closed his eyes to steady himself and begged his instincts to save him. They never failed him before, not even in the face of death. The same instincts told him to start on familiar grounds. He’d done this before and quite successfully, he agreed. Bringing his palm against her center, he pressed softly and then a little harder, slipping just one finger inside. She was as warm as he remembered and it pleased him to see ecstasy written in her heavy-lidded eyes. He recalled the gentle circles he’d done last time and applied the motion again round her sensitive numb, right to left and left to right.

 _Shitohfuck_ , Ginny mentally screamed, as she felt a pair of chapped lips brush down her abdomen and stop above her curls. She was aching and she wanted more, more, as much as he could give. Parting her legs unconsciously, she gave him better access and quite the view. Half opening her eyes, she saw him draw near her folds steadily, his mouth stopping inches from her. He paused to take off his glasses and safely place them at the foot of the bed. Turning back, he caught her gaze and she blushed, for it was more erotic than anything she’d done or imagined. And there was something wild, bestial, a raw sensuality in his emerald orbs and war-hardened features that made her feel as though she was his prey, as though he was preparing to feast on her. She shuddered, as if a hardwire had gone through every one of her nerves and set them ablaze.

The young man laid his lips on her warmth and shyly opened them enough to allow the tip of his tongue to glide against her. It snaked within her and slowly parted her. Exploring. Discovering. Tasting and enjoying such sweet honey. He flicked over her numb and she nearly jumped, for the pleasure shocked her to the core. He did it again and she braced herself, burying her heels deep into the mattress, clawing at the sheets with her delicate fingers. Her knees bent and the gap between her legs widened, freeing enough space for him to dive even deeper inside. She wanted to scream, to toss, to turn, to ask for more, more, more.

“Harry?” a discrete knock on the door. “There are some people from the Ministry here,” Charlie’s voice continued. “They want to talk to you.” There was a pause, in which none of them dared move. “It’s really important,” he tried again, weakly.

“Shit,” the ginger-haired girl spat through gritted teeth. Were her brothers always going to interrupt her quality time with Harry?

The man in question raised his head steadily. And just as firmly the same head disappeared again between her legs and her eyes rolled from pure delight, from rough, primal pleasure.

“Harry?” the older Weasley tried again, but remained completely disregarded.

Ginny felt high and she couldn’t hold back her moans and cries any longer. He pressed his warm tongue across the little bundle of nerves again and again, increasing the pressure with each flick. He looked handsome and powerful as he encircled his arms round her thighs, savagely pulling her closer, pulling himself deeper within her. Her dainty fingers flew to his dark locks and she grabbed hard, holding on for dear life. Squeezing her knees together against his temples, she found the release she was craving for.

Harry raised his head once again. She found herself enraptured with the view of him tightly holding her legs, his tenderly parted lips, _wet_ , so arousingly wet with her. _Fuck_ , she thought. When she saw him lick his lower lip, she thought she might faint. There was no other word to describe him than _provocative_.

“Take this, Romilda Vane,” she lazily stated, stretching her arms to beat some sense back into her numb body.

Harry laughed so hard he actually choked. Of all the things she could have said after he went down on her for the first time, _this_ was what she chose.

“I love you,” he told her, dazed, shifting to sit cross-legged on the mattress and shaking his head.

“What?!” Ginny’s brown orbs widened, her eyebrows in danger of blending in with her hairline.

 _“What?”_ her boyfriend blinked, just as shocked as she was at his own declaration.

They stared at each other for a moment, her half-naked, him blushing to the tips of his ears. And then they started laughing, hard, joyful, unburdened laughter. It seemed that they both had a way with words today, they both failed to grasp the importance of timing.

“So much for taking it slow, eh?” Harry chortled.

“I never really wanted to,” she shrugged. “I prefer what we have right now.”

“I guess I do too,” he admitted, grinning.

He yawned and threw himself on one side, like a lazy prey animal, drawing her to him.

“What about the Ministry people looking for you?” she asked, placing her arms round his neck and planting a lithe kiss on his swollen lips.

“The who?” he absently asked, tracing his fingers through her ginger locks.

“Nevermind,” she suppressed a giggle and returned her mouth to his.

_Some priorities easily changed after the war._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is meant to be a birthday present for the impossibly talented blvnk-art (find on her tumblr. now!) and it is based on her drawing with the same name as the last sentence: some priorities easily changed after the war.


	4. fourth base|homerun

**_Fourth base_ ** _: going all the way; touchdown._

They thought they would never be apart again, not for this long. Of course, the thought that Ginny was going back for her final year at Hogwarts had completely eluded them for most of the summer. So much had been going on. So much was changing and so little remaining the same. The summer had been a whirlwind and Harry could not, for the life of him, remember days. No days seemed to have existed, but only emotions, emotions stretched to cover four months of grief, anxiety, and delirious exuberance. It had no sense, but he was feeling all these; they were profoundly scratched into him, they had become part of his being. He latched onto tranquil memories to keep his balance and sanity. His hours of remorse were punctured by moments of happiness with Ginny, and over his stolen moments with her there were clouds of desperation.

She’d never asked him to go back with her. She could read him like an open book, always deeply understand him, even without speaking. They had their own way to communicate, for they were so alike in mind and spirit. She knew that he could not go back just yet, that it was impossible for him to witness the reconstruction of his first home, that the pain of revisiting the very place where so many had died, had sacrificed themselves would make him go insane. She knew and she never insisted to be accompanied back to Hogwarts, even if it meant living apart for another year. Because nothing was greater than her fear of losing him once again, seeing him stumble, lost in a limbo of sorrow, of agony, of never-ending torment. No, she would bear the months of loneliness and she would return to him. It was as simple as that. She lifted her chin and closed her eyes and that meant her mind had been set firmly on a plan and she would stubbornly see it through. Just like Harry did.

He’d sometimes lie on his back, seconds before falling asleep, and imagine what it would be for Ginny to be back at Hogwarts. She had somehow become even more stunningly beautiful over the summer and it couldn’t possibly be a trick of the mind. Moreover, he was absolutely positive he wouldn’t be the only one to notice it, oh no. This particular thought reminded him of how basically every guy who could still walk unassisted had been ogling her at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, a young, breathtaking girl in a golden dress; how she had received more invitations to dance than she had time to accept, and, of course, how Viktor Krum had wanted to make a move on her. Until Harry did something about it, that is. Oh, yes, he was most proud of his quick thinking and privately agreed with Ron that Krum was only good on a broomstick, as far away from Ginny as possible. In fact, every other guy had better keep his distance or else. Or else - _humph_. Harry would shift on his side, loudly exhale and crumple the sheets in his fist until Ron would throw a couple of well chosen swear words his way because the noise kept him awake.

Truth be told, he never really had time to linger much over such musings or get too drenched in his own imagination, constructing scenarios where he sheltered her from every man, leading her to publicly proclaim him her Chosen One, because Ginny was always by his side those days, so full of life and surprises. Her boldness inspired him and her laughter made him want to live forever if it meant spending every single day with her, lost in her heavenly smile. The memory of what she did for him on the morning of his eighteenth birthday still gave him goosebumps and he distinctly remembered grinning until his cheeks hurt for the rest of the day. Which, of course, made Mrs Weasley eye her daughter suspiciously, to which she would just bat her lashes angelically and put on an innocent face.     

In reality, Ginny had burst through the door at the crack of dawn, giving both Ron and himself a heart-attack and had instructed him to get ready because she was about kick his ass at Quidditch. After which she’d simply slammed the door behind her, leaving Harry clutching his stomach in a wild fit of laughter, and Ron looking harassed and swearing.

He had pulled on a pair of worn jeans and plain black t-shirt, brushed his teeth, sighed noticing his bed-hair and went out to see where his insane girlfriend was hiding. She called him to the broom shed and he wondered what she could possibly be up to so early in the morning, when everyone else was still soundly asleep.

“Happy eighteenth,” she grinned, pecking him on the lips.

“Thanks, but this you could have said inside the house, don’t you reckon?” he chuckled, one hand draped round her shoulders.

“Well, yes, but I want to give you something and seeing that everyone is keen on staying at the Burrow today and my brother’s snores knock all romance out of me every time I enter your room, I figured some privacy would do us good,” she explained, punctuating her argument with small kisses.

“Did you now?” Harry asked, distracted, for her right hand was about to make full contact with the buttons of his jeans. He mentally cursed himself for not having enough sense as to put on some fresh pair of boxers or to take a shower. No, he had to believe she really wanted to play Quidditch and throw on his oldest trousers over the faded pair of underwear in which he slept. Oh well. You live and you learn – never trust Ginny Weasley.

The birthday boy felt a shiver down his spine when he heard the fly unzip. Ginny looked up at him and smirked, then slowly bent her knees until her forehead rested on his abdomen. Could he dare get his hopes up? As her hands started pushing down his jeans, not only did he start daring, but there was even a distinctive victory themed soundtrack that had started playing in his mind.

Not even bothering to blush, he watched mesmerized from above, watched the ginger head get dangerously close to his nether region. A feeling of incredible warm, of lightheadedness engulfed him and he just closed his eyes, resting his head on the wooden wall of the broom shed.

Yes, such was Ginny, pulling him back to life from wherever he might get stuck. Every day with her was something akin to stepping outside into a painfully hard sun, but after your eyes get accustomed to the powerful light, you feel the warmth on your skin and your heart beats faster and you are grateful that you are alive. This was the only way he knew how to describe their relationship, for he was living something more intense than he could put into words. And he was never great with words. He was rather more of an action man. Let others waste their time with beautifully crafted phrases; he was aching to live all of the life he hadn’t lived in nearly eighteen years of existence. And he chose to live it with her – on his birthday, on her birthday, every time they could steal moments for themselves, and in the in-between of it all.

On the morning of September 1st, the Weasleys witnessed a strange phenomenon. Harry Potter was skipping down the Burrow steps, a dubious buoyancy about him. They had all presumed that he would be sulking and moody for the occasion. They could only assume that he was versatile and that was that. But Hermione, seeing him grin like a madman as he walked onto the platform, hand in hand with Ginny, knew better. And, to her credit, she kept silent until she found Ginny in their now shared dormitory, unpacking her trunk.

“So, are you ready to talk about it?” she asked, closing the door behind her.

“About what?” Ginny responded with a question of her own, her focus on the contents of her trunk.

“Would you rather pretend that nothing happened?” Hermione pressed on, comfortably settling herself on the four-poster closest to her friend.

“Pretend what?” she said, fixing her wand behind her ear and bending over the trunk once again.

“Harry was practically skipping this morning,” Hermione curled her lips into a faint smile, seeing Ginny freeze for the smallest of moments.

Taking a second to compose her face and to be absolutely positive that the heath which had crept up her neck was gone, she slowly turned towards the brown-haired girl. She was looking at her expectantly and Ginny knew it would be pointless to lie. Hermione was a superb judge of character when it came to her and she always guessed what was happening inside her mind, sometimes even before she was able to accept it.

“Did you…?” she inquired.

“Yeah,” the redhead acknowledged and she was surprised at the stoicism in her voice.

“And? How did it feel?”

“I’m not sure – I mean, it was fast, and messy, and bloody brilliant,” Ginny breathed, just a little flustered. She took a seat on the bed opposite Hermione, hugging her knees to her chest. “I guess it was rather perfect.”

“I reckon you’re both very happy,” Hermione told her, shifting to rest her back on the bed pillar and stretch her legs. “And I’m happy too. For you.”

“What about you and Ron?” it was Ginny’s turn to interrogate her and she was keen on not missing the opportunity. Privately, she was curious, even though nobody would hear her admit that about her older brother’s love interests.

“Oh, you know, we’ve both been very busy over the summer and –“ the bushy-haired girl rapidly rolled the words down her tongue, as if repeating a well-rehearsed line.

“So you haven’t?” Ginny cut across her stammering. Her friend closed her mouth and paused, frowning.

“Honestly, no. I mean, I was mostly with my parents and - there were some moments and, yes, I started thinking about it after Australia, but something or other would always happen before we could – you know,” she bent her knee and pressed her forehead to it.

“I understand. Well, it’s no big deal. You’ll just have to buckle up and do it because my brother’s too much of a pansy to actually –“

“Ginny!” Hermione chastised her.

“What? It’s true. I know Ron,” she twirled a ginger lock about her index finger.

“Maybe not all that well,” Hermione smiled sheepishly.

“Ew,” the redheaded witch stuck out her tongue. Hermione giggled, suddenly happy that they were able to stress about such trivialities again, that they could act their age again.

Lying awake in the dark room, Ginny sensed her heart beat faster as she reminisced what would forever be one of her dearest memories. The whole string of events played rapidly on the back of her eyelids and she couldn’t help but grin.

It was past midnight when she had heard him descending, his footsteps louder and louder with each story. She had ceased her packing and gone out to see what was wrong. By the look of him, chin down and hands in his pocket, she knew something was definitely bothering him. Ginny casually leaned back on her bedroom door and asked him what was on his mind. He clenched his knuckles harder inside his pockets and made up some cock and bull about seeing if she needed any help. Of course he wouldn’t just speak his mind, he was Harry bloody Potter and his mission in life was to hide every meager moment of weakness. So she’d roll her eyes and bluntly point out that something was troubling him. Thus, they agreed to just talk and she guided him into her room, amidst the disaster sprawled everywhere.

“Finished packing?” he joked, taking in the sight. The floor seemed to be boobytrapped with her school books, while the bed was clustered with robes and every article of clothing she owned.

“Haha,” she scoffed, tossing her clothes and robes unceremoniously on the floor in one go.

Ginny sat on the bed and patted the spot next to her as if to signal that she was expecting him to sit down and start talking. So he did and wanted to say something, but he noticed the way the oil lamp in the corner created dancing shadows in her chocolate brown eyes. That blazing look in her face rendered him speechless, made him completely forget. It was as though the hard feeling clutching at his heart had been channeled into her through the lithe touch of their thighs. He realised he had been longing to see her and she wasn’t even gone yet. He had been desperate to hold her, even though only hours had passed since their last embrace. He had been afraid of the loneliness that he would have to suffer over the long months of separation.

She understood everything, read his thoughts. She shared his misery, his fears, his heartache. Lifting one finger, she pressed it gently to his lips and he lightly kissed its tip in response. Ginny leaned forward and hungrily glued her mouth to his, determined to prolong the moment of goodbye as much as possible. Through the kiss, he caressed her cheeks, her hair, the creamy skin of her neck. She bit his lip with urgency and he eagerly obliged, opening his mouth to meet her tongue with his. They would never feel tired of this dance they were doing, never weary of traveling the lengths of their bodies until they lay naked, completely exposed to each other.

He lifted her shirt and left a trail of kisses on her abdomen, threw the garment on the floor and unclasped her bra. She took it off and arched her back, allowing him press his lips in a stream, from her collar bone down to her chest, to take one nipple tenderly between his teeth and then the other. She grabbed a fistful of raven locks, pulling his head closer to her as his fingers found their way down her trousers and inside her knickers. Ginny brought his mouth to her to stifle the moan threatening to escape her lips at the feel of his index finger inside.

Harry gently pushed her on her back and took off his own black shirt, along with his glasses. Bending over her, he marked her body with open-mouthed kisses. He removed both her bottoms and underwear and she shivered under his gaze. The prey animal was back and he was wild. Wild with lust as he took her in, a delicate, yet powerful young woman with long, flaming red hair, framing her petite figure. He lifted one of her slender legs and kissed the back of her thigh, descending in his path until he reached a mess of ginger curls. She had the sweetest taste, she was his ambrosia. She made him feel immortal.

She nearly screamed when he kissed her there and it was maybe this which made her finally decide. Brusquely, Ginny sat up, startling him. Not bothering to explain, she reached for his belt and shoved his jeans down his legs. Harry watched her, dazed, not entirely comprehending what was about to happen. Ginny battling for control always had this effect on him.

In her haste to free him of his boxers, she nearly fell off the bed. They both stopped and looked at each other, breaking into laughter. Her clumsy gesture had shattered the trance they had been stuck in and cleared their heads of grogginess. They both understood what this was leading to and neither was afraid. They were nearly there and they would walk past it, together, always together.

“Nice move,” he taunted her, his boxers slightly jerked off as to reveal a patch of dark hair and a V line hiding within.

“You do it, if you’re so smart,” she shot back, pouting.

He took two steps back and made a show of taking off the pair of black boxers. He held up his hands as if to say _ta-da!_ and she giggled. The smile lit up her features and all of a sudden he was strongly aware of the twinkle in her eyes and the smirk on her lips, as her gaze lingered on his lower body. He needed her acutely, everything about her provoked him, goaded him until he could no longer stand it. It felt like they have undressed in each other’s presence since the very beginning, their love as old as time.

So he climbed into bed, one knee between her legs, and claimed her lips. One hand supporting him above her and the other caressing her breasts, lightly squeezing them, stroking parts of her body over and over again. She panted as their kiss deepened and encircled his neck with her freckled arms. He moved to kiss along her jaw and brushed one finger over her cherry lips; she lightly suckled on it, flicking her tongue twice over the trodden skin. The sensation made Harry’s insides boil and he painted a wet trail with it, from her jaw, between her breasts, down her flat abdomen and arriving at her warm entrance. Ginny closed her eyes and murmured his name, feeling the wet tip of his finger inside her, pleasuring her, twisting the small bundle of nerves until her body was on fire.

She wrapped her legs round his torso and he removed his finger. His sex was touching hers and the softness of her flesh made him almost delirious. She lifted her upper body to capture his lips, instilling a sense of determination into him. The young man laced his fingers with her dainty ones and pushed gently at her folds. His tip parted her and it was so good, so blissfully good that he thought he might come undone. Ginny whimpered and bit her lip hard to silence herself. She dug her nails into his back and her thighs tightened their hold on his torso. She was ready and she could get through this.

Their first motion was awkward and rash. Leaning on his elbows, he twice caught her hair underneath. She writhed beneath him, unwittingly drawing him in just a little bit deeper, leaving him breathless. He was all readiness and excitement and no stamina. He wanted her impetuously, desired her, he needed her right then.  

Too roughly, Harry penetrated her barrier and she cried, sinking her teeth into his shoulder. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry_ , he would mumble, kissing her eyelids, her forehead, her cheeks, cupping her face into his blistered palms. She filled her lungs with air, and pressed a cheek to his. They sat like that for moments, breathing, just breathing. When he started moving again, she gripped his hand harder. He brought their clasped hands to his mouth and kissed her knuckles dearly, tenderly. If only he could save tonight. If only. He lifted his eyes to the window, towards the start-struck sky and the ghost of an idea cut through the fog in his mind. He’d once told her that the freckles on her body were like millions of stars, strewn across her skin in constellations. He’d told her that if the stars hid all over her body, then the sun hung in her hair. He’d told her she was his universe and she blushed and laughed at his sappiness.

His moves were rough, somewhat irregular, pleasure and pain shooting through her with each thrust. He glided deeper within her and their mouths crashed onto each other, a folly of teeth and lips and tongues. He pushed harder and she entwined their fingers once again. His left hand sneaked up, kneading her breast with a hungriness that made her toes curl. He worshipped her, feeling the curves of her body under his calluses. Oh, how he worshipped her, his fiery girl with hair like the setting sun. Her sweet mouth slightly open, her white teeth revealed, savagely biting her lips in ecstasy until they were crimson and swollen. Her round breasts bounced against his chest, her nipple grazing his skin. It was primitive, profane, like a ritual taking over both of them. He searched for a rhythm, he needed control. Two hard thrusts, one soft. Repeating it, he watched as they were wrapped together, their beings melting into one. Weaving and unweaving. In and then out. Creating magic together. He wanted it to last forever, to be forever drifting in this moment of passion, forgotten in this life changing embrace.

But his body betrayed his mind, working against his wishes and his pelvis slammed harder against hers. Harder, and faster, and stronger, skin bruising skin. _Fuck_ , he thought and buried his head into the crook of her neck. He was no longer in control, they were no longer in control. Adrenaline rushed through their veins, clouding their eyes, their minds. He felt a fire burn inside him, his groans growing louder. Her skin was flushed, her hair a tangled mess. She moaned his name over and over and it was this which made him finally let loose. His vision blurred, Harry felt wonderfully high. A buzz went through the tips of his fingers. It was electrifying.      

Diving back from that sweet height, he propped himself on his elbows and looked down at the redheaded girl smiling brightly at him. He brushed the stray lock from her face and pressed his forehead to hers. He tried to find a name for the raw emotion he was feeling, for it made his heart beat madly and butterflies spin inside his stomach. Tipsily, he wondered if the word he was searching for was _magic_ , because nothing else could leave him as intoxicated, as giddy as he was right then.

“I love you,” Ginny whispered in his ear.

 _Of course,_ he realised. _Love_. A magic more powerful and ancient than all. A wide smile was plastered all over his face and he seized her lips again and again, consuming them, pouring all the love he felt into his kisses. He guided her warm palm to the place where she could feel his heartbeat.

“Can you feel this? It beats for you. You’re one in a million,” he softly told her.

Tears formed at the creases of her eyes and she bat her lashes fast to banish them. She feared that, should she allow herself to cry, she might burst from all the emotions colliding inside her. She loved him, she needed him, she adored him, she wanted to always protect him. She would gladly rip her heart out and offer it to him. For the first time in her life, she found that she was lost for words. So she simply held on to him, even after his head fell into the pillow, beside her. They were drunk from such love, forgetting the world around them. For Harry and Ginny, only the two of them existed that night.

In the morning, when he sneaked out and she remained alone, she finally let all her feelings wash down her like a waterfall. She desperately gripped her sheets and melted into his perfume. A mix of wood, treacle tart and earth encumbered the atmosphere and she wrapped the sheet round her naked body, clutching it close to her chest. That night, miles away from the safety of his arms, she fell asleep in the same position, holding his forgotten shirt to her heart and breathing in a scent that belonged to him.

While Harry, well, he had indeed continued to feel dizzy all day, drunk on her and drunk from the recent memories. He had spent the first part of the afternoon in a daze, wandering aimlessly around the Burrow. The feeling was so overwhelming, so great, so unlike anything else, that if he suddenly started floating to the heavens he would not be surprised.

“Bloody hell! What in the name of Merlin’s old nightgown is wrong with you, mate?” Ron brought him back to earth. They were doing the dishes in the kitchen or, rather, resting on a chair each, while the enchanted sponge cleaned the plates and cutlery. Being of age brought along many benefits, you see.

“What – no – nothing’s wrong with me,” Harry’s voice came out louder and squeakier than he’d intended. _Sod it_ , could he exert no self control? Couldn’t he be subtle for once? And to think he dreamed of being an Auror. He imagined himself squeaking in a villain’s face and immediately cracked a mental chair over his head. Mentally.

“I’ve known you for the past seven years and there is definitely something the matter,” the redheaded young man glared at him.

“Yes, well – erm,” Harry rubbed the back of his head. Was he really about to confess to Ron? Was he insane? Was he definitely done with life?

“What? What is so complex that is taking you an entire day to formulate?” Ron asked, annoyed. “Have you been reading Hermione’s books because that is just indecent,” he eyed his best friend suspiciously.

“I – well – you see,” he took a large gulp of air and breathed it out all at once. “Isleptwithsomebodyforthefirsttimelastnight,” he blurted and braced himself for a well deserved older brotherly punch in the face.

“Care to give it another go? I couldn't quite catch it the first time,” Ron said, amused.

“I…I kind of slept…,” he tried again. Seeing Ron stare at him, Harry was ready to give all the gold left in his vault only to be taken away from that chair in the Burrow’s kitchen, where he was slowly but surely tortured to insanity by his oblivious best mate.

“You overslept? Blimey, did Mum catch you? You know how she gets when she expects us to do stuff and –“

“No! Give me some time to find my words,” he gushed, frustrated.

As if to indicate that enough time had passed already, Ron dramatically took out his watch and pretended to check it. The dark-haired boy rolled his eyes and attempted to steady himself once again. He had to get this over with before his nerves betrayed him.

“Alright, so…Remember that you are my best mate, yeah?” he started.

“Course I am and I’m also afraid that you’re barking.”

“And that we promised to be friends no matter what.”

“Alright, that’s it, I’m freaked out.”

Before Ron could add anything else, Harry held up his hand and drew in another mouthful of air. “I slept with Ginny last night,” he spoke, trying to void his words of all emotion.

Ron blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. Maybe if he pinched himself, the vision of Harry confessing that he'd slept with his little sister would go away. He pinched so hard tears formed at the corners of his eyes.

_“You what now?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They finally got there, together. And it's a good thing they did because there might not be much of Harry left after Ron's done with him, huh?


	5. managerial ejection: a sequel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to touchdown, in which Harry and Ron tipsily discuss private affairs.

**_Managerial ejection:_ ** _the umpire has the right to toss the manager off the pitch; the manager may not touch, spit on, insult or shout at the umpire._

 

 “Mate, don’t get so pumped up –“

“Don’t you tell me what to do! You bloody traitor, you –“

“Ron, keep it down! Your Mum might hear and –“

“Let her hear! Maybe she’ll throw you out, like you deserve –“

“Oi! If you want me gone, I’m gone!”

They were both standing up now, chairs kicked aside. A million shades of red on his face, Ron was breathing hard, knuckles white from clutching his wand tightly. Across from him, Harry was torn between shoving a fork up his best mate’s flaring nostrils or just leaving immediately. Privately, he marveled at his own innocence in thinking that Ron might take this information nicely. Calmly. But then again, this was the person who threw tantrums for weeks because Hermione dared kiss another guy at one point in her life. Reason was not his finest point, and Harry would just have to step up and be the adult of the two. Or just give him a good smack, either one would do.

“Look, last year was different and bottom line is I’m not leaving her ever again. We’re both very serious about this and it’s not like I had it planned –“ he started to explain, trying hard not to grit his teeth. Unfortunately, Ron snorted halfway through his discourse and Harry had to dig his heels hard into the ground to stop himself from sprinting over to the redhead and bitchslapping him.

“What? You don’t believe me?” he asked, incensed.

“No, I don’t,” Ron spat.

Their eyes shot hexes and curses at each other. Harry had a vision of his younger self, throwing a POTTER STINKS badge flush into Ron’s throbbing forehead. He sighed. Ron might’ve had his pants in a twist, but he was still his best mate and he hated fighting with him.

“I know she’s your little sister –“

“YOU HAVE BESMIRCHED MY SISTER!” he bellowed, turning maroon.

 _Besmirched? Besmirched?! Who still uses this word? Gormless prats like Ron, that’s who_. Harry growled to himself, having enough sense to silently cast Muffliato just in case any extra Weasley decided to join in on their merry conversation.

“Aren’t you getting a bit beyond yourself?” Harry cocked an eyebrow.

“DO NOT BLOODY TELL ME WHAT TO BLOODY DO, HARRY BLOODY POTTER! YOU TRAITOR, YOU FAKE FRIEND, YOU – YOU –“ Ron roared. “You stay away from my sister,” he added, almost in a whisper. His eyes turned to slits, his wand pointed in the young man’s direction.

“No,” Harry’s jaw was steeled. He was swiftly slipping into his stubborn persona, the one that would not rest until the plan was accomplished, until the goal was reached. And now the goal was to make the lunatic howling across from him understand that his relationship with Ginny was very serious and very much their business, even if he had to somehow insert this information into his skull.

For a moment, he thought Ron would throw him out and, privately, Ron really did ponder it. But then, something in Harry’s iron gaze made him remember the skinny, messy-haired child, with his glasses heavily wrapped in sellotape, a poor excuse for fixing them, and he knew he could not stoop so low. Harry was more than a brother and he had been since day one. He dropped his gaze, anger and confusion mixing inside his chest. He’d been brought up to care for and protect his little sister. But now that his best friend was involved, didn’t she still need caring and protecting? If he were to be honest, there was no other bloke he’d like to see Ginny with, so why did he react the way he did?

“I’m going up,” Ron mumbled and turned on his feet to leave.

Harry followed the mane of red hair disappear up the Burrow’s top landings. Cursing under his breath, he swung a hateful kick at his former chair. Sadly, the action brought him no vindication, but tears of pain and a searing panic that he might have broken his toe.

Using his wand, he lifted and straightened his chair, then collapsed into it. His head hurt from all the pent up frustration, and he pressed the tips of his fingers hard into his forehead. If only he could just throw a punch up Ron’s freckled face, he would definitely feel better. If only he could have kept his mouth shut. If only –

His train of thought was interrupted by a rustle of footsteps. Through his parted fingers, he saw his best mate’s dirty old sneakers descend towards him and he prepared for another round, possibly for a physical fight. He knew both of them had to blow off steam somehow.

Instead, Ron flung a heavy bottle of auburn liquid on the table, one that Harry recognized as Ogden’s Old Firewhisky. He looked up at Ron in surprise, wordlessly asking what that was all about.

“Mum and Dad are over at Bill’s,” he shrugged and drew his chair closer to the kitchen table. Without sparing Harry a glance, he tapped the lid with his wand and poured two glasses full of the burning liquid. One he grabbed for himself and the other he pushed to the other side of the table, to the dark-haired young man who was still gaping at him.

“Start talking,” he commanded.

“What?” Harry asked. He was still not catching on and everything he knew about the ginger boy told him this should not be happening. Instead, they should either continue their quarrel or retreat and avoid each other for days.

“You heard me. Drink and start talking,” Ron said coolly. Glaring at Harry, he took the first gulp and relaxed against his chair, sensing the sweet taste of the alcohol enveloping him. He had no palpable experience with drinking, but neither did Harry. Therefore, he was determined to outlast his friend and get the truth out of him.

The lightning on his forehead faintly prickled as he started draining his own glass. Wiping the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand, he caught a glimpse of the old scar, an aftermath of his scuffle with the old hag, Umbridge. _I must not tell lies_ , it read. Fine. He won’t. If Ron wanted him to talk, then talk he will. No details spared, not even if Ron begged him to shut up.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he started, filling his glass once again. “I couldn’t sleep because I kept thinking that she’d be gone in the morning and we wouldn’t see each other for months.”

Ron frowned. He had been battling the same thoughts, and, if it weren’t for Hermione’s strict instructions that he shouldn’t come barging down her front door in the middle of the night, especially when her parents were home, he would have gone flying by her side.

“So I went downstairs to see how she was doing, maybe help her pack, if she needed any help,” he continued, and, hearing Ron’s muffled snort, he added “I’m serious, mate. I never thought that we would – you know,” he stared at his Firewhisky intensely, avoiding his friend’s burning gaze.

“Go on,” Ron heaved his chin as if to indicate the interview was not over yet.

“So I went in,” Harry scratched the back of his head, staling. “Everything was a mess and – and I reckon I haven’t drunk enough to tell you this.” He felt his ears catching fire at the memories and he silently prayed that he would not start grinning like a moron. He was still over the moon with joy, mind you, but now was not the time to show it.

“Then drink. Come on now, bottoms up,” Ron replied and clinked Harry’s full glass with his own. Both boys poured the liquid down their throats, heads leaned backwards. The glasses were refilled and once again they emptied them in one gulp. Three Firewhisky shots later, the dark-haired – and slightly inebriated wizard – felt he was confident enough to continue the story.

“She was so beautiful and had that blazing look, you know, almost like your Mum when she gets angry,” he explained, an amused expression on his face as he took another swig of alcohol.

“Oi, don’t you bring my Mum into this,” Ron threatened, stumbling upon his words.

“Sorry,” Harry giggled. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was scandalized at his giggling. Giggling was not Harry Potter’s thing, no, sir.

Ron brought his fist to his cheek to support his head, propping his elbow into the table. If he concentrated hard enough, he two Harrys that sat in front of him would stop spinning. One of them poured another glass of Firewhisky and he heard himself command that they drink it immediately.

“She was looking at me in a way that I believe is so – so sexy,” he continued as his friend’s head hit the table in a failed attempt to show his disgust. “So we started undressing,” Harry hiccupped. “And she tried shoving my pants off and nearly fell off the bed,” he laughed, slapping his knee. Ron howled in equal tones of laughter, the image of his sister rolling off the mattress in an attempt to – erm – disrobe his best mate appearing suddenly very amusing.

“Then I was on top and I was very gentle,” he nodded to no one in particular, grasping for his glass and draining it once again.

“You fucking git, I’ll murder you,” Ron cried in drunken rage and tripped over the legs of his chair. Harry laughed harder, seeing his best mate crumpled on the floor. In his fit of laughter, he hadn’t noticed that he was leaning much too hard on his own chair, thus ending up with his back against the cold ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron crawling towards him. There was a manic glint in his blue orbs, one that reminded him so much of Hermione in her exam fever.

“Keep talking,” he said, shaking Harry by the neck of his shirt.

His spectacles askew, he tried repositioning them and licked his lips, tasting the last drops of Firewhisky. He smacked Ron’s hand, then rolled over and placed his palms under his head. Harry closed his eyes and tried to remember what happened next.

“Then we did it,” he said, squinting to stop the universe crushing onto him.

“Blimey, I bet you didn’t even last long enough,” Ron muttered, rolling the way Harry did and mimicking his position. Both boys were sprawled on the Burrow’s floor, the world whirling and twirling before their eyes.

“I did!” Harry blurted out, hurt in his masculine pride. He didn’t stop to think about it, but now that he did, he was quite delighted with himself. It had been very much enjoyable for both of them, he assured himself. It had been great, splendid even, right? Right?

“What did she say?” Ron asked, touching his elbow to his friend’s.

“That she loves me,” Harry declared, the animal in his chest roaring with pride.

“You’re dis-dis-disgusting,” the red-haired wizard stammered, seeing the ceiling come closer to him now.

“And you’re a git,” Harry pointed out. “And I love her. In fact, I’m quite barmy” he said, swinging an arm over his eyes and knocking his glasses aside in the process. He was positive he might vomit if he kept staring at the revolving ceiling. 

A moment of silence stretched between the two drunken lads. Neither wanted to barf in front of the other, for that would mean losing the testosterone contest that had ensued between them. It was adamant that they hold on as tightly as possible and may the best man win.

“Mate?” Ron tried speaking; he felt that his tongue weighted a tone and the sheer effort of using it to articulate words was taking away his last amount of energy.

“Yeah?” Harry replied, his eyes in danger of rolling to the back of their sockets.

“What – y’know,” he tried moving his lips, but they didn’t quite comply. “What position did you use?”

At this, Harry jumped to his feet, which was a very bad idea in itself, especially when one takes into consideration the liter of Firewhisky digested by the eighteen year old mere minutes before. The walls came crashing into him and he plummeted back to the ground, nearly giving Ron a black eye in the process.

“Spit it out, you bloody wanker,” the younger Weasley tried sounding serious, dangerous, but to no avail. His only response was Harry choking on his own saliva while laughing and specifying that he’d never been called a wanker before. In truth, they’d never actually been this hammered before.

“I’m fucking serious, mate. You won’t see me running to George for advice. Oh, piss off!” he shoved a very amused Harry.

“Fine, fine,” he heaved. “I’ll tell you,” he added between chuckles. Ron propped his head up and stared at him with as much interest as someone in his state could.

“I think they call it the miss-narry,” Harry explained with an air of importance, butchering the word.

“The what?” Ron interrogated, leaning down over Harry to better hear his maudlin answer.

“The miss-narry,” he said again, a little spit coming out of his mouth. He wiped it with the tips of his fingers and flipped his form to face Ron. “It’s when she’s laying on her back and you get on top,” he continued his report and his friend nodded in acknowledgement.

“Bollocks,” Ron hiccupped.“Anything else, then?” he asked, slightly pouting.

“No, mate, wha’s wrong with’ya?” Harry’s head slipped from its support in utter shock.

“I mean, was that all?”

“Whaddya mean?!” Harry spat. “What else was I supposed to do?”

Fear started clawing at his tipsy heart. What if he completely failed Ginny? What if she hated him now? What if she thought he couldn’t even satisfy her? Shame started mingling with fear and alcohol, and he wanted to bang his head on the floor as many times as he needed to lose consciousness. All of a sudden, being awake felt extremely painful.

“Dunno, I just imagined you’d be up all night – you know – heavily…shagging,” Ron scratched his forehead, banishing his bangs from his eyes.

“Yeah, right,” Harry exhaled in a spontaneous fit of honesty. “You’re lucky if you can hold it for ten minutes,” he grunted, collapsing on his back again.

“You mean…hold it up?”

Harry screamed with mirth. At least, he had no problem with _that._ Oh no, he considered himself to be excelling at this particular aspect, thankyouverymuch. Opening his eyes, he recognized a blurred Ron hovering above him.

“Gerrof!” he wailed, trying to push his best friend off him. “What the actual fuck?” he asked, poking Ron in the chest.

“I’ll pretend it’s not my little sister we’re talking about if you give me more details. Did you give her the ol’ Aussie kiss, because I was close to doing it to Hermione, but then –“

“Ron, Hermione’s like my sister, you can’t tell me that!” Harry pressed both palms to his eyes, trying to get rid of the mental image of his two best mates starkers, going down on each other. “You’re positively mad,” he concluded, disregarding the fact that nothing but a deep state of ebriety would determine Ron to pry into his sister’s - and his very own - private affairs, begging for details.

“She’s not your sister, you berk. Her name is Granger, you are Potter,” the redheaded boy justified, employing a tone close to what Harry used when talking to Teddy.

“I said like my sister,” he sighed. “I did, though,” Harry slightly grinned and Ron’s mouth opened in amazement. The raven-haired boy acted as though he was confessing he could perform the Wronski feint with his eyes closed, and he felt chuffed to bits.

Ron marveled at how experienced his best friend was, when he thought him more ignorant than his own self. Bloody hell, Harry was awful with women, that much he always reckoned. It was one of the few areas where he didn’t outshine Ron. And he, Ron Weasley, was still ignorant by circumstance, not by his own will, if he had to admit. Nevertheless, this was a heavenly chance to shed his ignorance and take a step closer to becoming a man. In his own woozy mind, at least.

“Is-t c-complicated?” he stumbled, words melting into each other.

“Nah. Tell you what, when you get to it, call for me and I’ll Apparate there to offer you the necessary instructions,” Harry patted his friend on the shoulder and instantly burst into laughter.

“Piss off,” Ron shot, sincerely disappointed.

Hours later, when Mr and Mrs Weasley stepped out of the green flames and into their usually tidy kitchen, they almost stomped on two very drunk boys. Their own son and their almost son were snoring loudly, having fallen asleep into each other’s arms. Two chairs were kicked to the ground and the remnants of the Ogden’s Old Firewhisky bottle drenching the wooden floor.

“Dear, I think it’s time we took out the hangover potion once again,” Mr Weasley gently told his wife, who was currently at a loss for words. Her eyes were throwing daggers at the two unlucky teens and her husband turned around to smile. He was familiar with the storm which was about to come and he’d make sure to have some business as far away as possible. This was definitely not the first time they were greeted by whisky-soaked snores. He rapidly reminisced the younger versions of Bill and Charlie slouched under the kitchen table in pretty much the same fashion. Of course, Fred and George had been too precocious in their alcoholic adventures, as they’d been in all shenanigans. And there had been that one incident with Percy not so long ago. Indeed, the Weasley house had never been shy of men and their antics.

A shower of ice cold water emitted from the matron’s wand brought the wasted blokes to their feet, teeth chattering and spitting out blasphemies.

“Ronald. Bilius. Weasley!” Arthur Weasley heard the dulcet tones of his wife’s voice before he took refuge in his old garage, chuckling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will never get over the fact that, whenever they have this conversation, they are actually talking about each other's sister. Awkwardness alert! Anyway, bless them, they're so adorable!

**Author's Note:**

> let's chat endlessly on tumblr: fightfortherightsofhouseelves  
> i enjoy discussing hinny and harry potter forever and ever and ever and yeah, ever!


End file.
